Opening This Fall
by lrritable-vowel-types
Summary: After years of hard work, Makoto has finally accomplished her dream of opening her own bakery. Located in an out-of-the-way neighborhood, she struggles to make her bakery a success. But when an arrogant man with a smile that turns Makoto's insides to goo plans to open a cafe next door, her sleepy world is given a jolt. Could love be on the menu, or is she destined to get burned?


This was written as part of the 2018 Senshi x Shitennou Minibang Challenge! I was paired with the amazing JozaillaThrilla, who created beautiful artwork for this fic, which you can see on the Archive of Our Own version of this story at archiveofourown dot com / works / 16511651. (Take out the spaces and replace the "dot" with a period—trust me, this story is best experienced with the art. I HIGHLY encourage you to go check it out over there.) Many thanks to Jozilla, and to my beta Antigone2 for helping make this story not suck, and to the mods who worked so hard to make this challenge a success for the second year in a row. xoxo

* * *

"I'm heeeere!"

Makoto looked up from the register, glaring as Minako strolled in through the bakery door.

"You're late," Makoto said. "You're an _hour_ late, Minako."

"I knoooow, I'm really sorry," she said, taking off her oversized sunglasses and dropping her purse down behind the counter with a thud. "But Mako, I was out with this guy last night and it took longer to get home from his place this morning than I expected and then I had to shower and get ready and stuff and get all the way here and it took foreverrrr!"

"Seriously, again?" Makoto said, shaking her head. "Poor Aoi and I have been swapping covering the counter for you all morning."

"I'm sorry, Mako, really," Minako said, making the most pathetic expression she could manage.

Makoto sighed, rolling her eyes. "Just . . . keep a change of clothes here or something from now on."

"Ooooh, good idea! Gosh, you're so smart. And so nice. Oh, and did I tell you how pretty you look today? Because wow, your hair—"

"Just clock in, Minako."

Minako grinned, then took her place at the register, punching in her employee code as Makoto walked into the back to grab a tray of almond croissants that had been cooling. After giving them an artful sprinkle of powdered sugar, she returned to the front, transferring the still-warm pastries onto a nearly empty tray in the display case next to the register.

"Hey, Mako," Minako said, nodding her head toward the front of the bakery. "Check it out."

Makoto straightened up and came to Minako's side by the register to peer out of the bakery's windows. A shiny red car was now parked across the street and, although Makoto didn't know much about cars, it was obviously a very expensive one.

"That's a Ferrari 812 Superfast. Costs a cool 40 million yen," Minako said matter-of-factly. "I was a booth babe for a few auto shows, remember?" she explained with a wink when she caught sight of Makoto's confused expression.

"Why is someone driving an expensive car like that around _here_?" Makoto wondered aloud. It was hardly a normal sight in their sleepy, out-of-the-way neighborhood. Already an elderly couple that had been hobbling down the street had stopped to ogle the flashy car, while another motorist in a beat-up truck laden with watermelons slowed down to get a better look while passing.

"Gotta be lost," Minako said. "Oh, ooooh! Maybe he's a _spy_! Like James Bond!"

Makoto rolled her eyes. "You'd think a spy would want to attract _less_ attention, not more."

They watched curiously as the driver's door opened and a man stepped out. Makoto's eyes widened as she took in the sight of the man—no, the _god_ —who was now standing beside the cherry red car, studying the buildings in front of him as his luxurious mane of wavy brown hair gently caught the breeze. He held a perfectly bronzed hand above his brow to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked around, allowing Makoto to admire the broad, muscular chest barely contained within his stylish purple T and the way his artfully distressed jeans (which no doubt cost more than her rent) hugged his hips.

"Now that's a snack, right there," Minako said.

Makoto swallowed. Her mouth felt curiously dry.

"Seriously, do they let men like that just wander around?" she asked.

She felt her face flush as his gaze fell on the bakery.

"Oh my god!" she squawked as he started walking toward the front door. "He's coming over here!"

Makoto moved to slip into the back, but Minako caught her.

"Oh damn, would you look at that?" she said with a smirk, pointing to the clock. "Time for my break!"

"You just got here!"

The man was getting closer . . . only a few more steps and he would be through the bakery door.

"Sorry, union rules," Minako said as she smoothed Makoto's hair and slapped some of the flour off of her apron. "Go get 'em, Tiger!" Minako cheered, slipping into the back.

Makoto quickly fluffed her cleavage and thanked whatever gods were up there that she had chosen to wear a blouse that highlighted her boobs that day. She plastered a smile on her face and placed a hand on the counter, attempting (and failing spectacularly) to look natural as the man finally entered the bakery.

"Welcome to Floribunda Bakery!" Makoto said, her voice unusually high. She cleared her throat as the man took off his sunglasses as he sauntered up to the register.

"Hey there, Beautiful," he said, giving Makoto a panty-melting smile.

"Can I get you something?" she asked as she did her best not to melt into a puddle the floor.

He looked into the glass case next to the register, placing his hand on the glass as he looked at the pastries. Makoto flinched, knowing he would leave a gigantic handprint behind. "Is there anything you recommend?"

She smiled. "It depends on what you want! We have a few savory scones—ham and cheese, cheddar and chive," she explained, pointing to each item in turn, "or, if you want sweet, the pain au chocolat is always popular, and the almond croissants are fresh from the oven. Or, if you're in the mood for a sweet snack, there are tarts, cakes, macarons—"

"Y'know," he interrupted, making her flinch again as he tapped his finger on the glass, dotting it with his fingerprints, "I think the pain au chocolat looks great."

"Great choice. Just one?"

"Yep."

"For here or to go?"

"To go, please," he said as she bagged his pastry and handed it to him. "And a coffee, too. Largest size you got."

"Sure thing," she said. She was just handing him the coffee when her landlord, Mr. Watanabe, arrived and interrupting the transaction with a hearty greeting.

"Mr. Kitaishi!" Watanabe said, bowing politely to the man at the counter as he took the coffee from Makoto. "You made it! Here, Makoto, let me take care of his bill."

"Oh don't worry, I got it!"

"No, no, Mr. Kitaishi, I _insist_!"

She watched with amusement as the two men argued politely over who was paying, gently dueling with their credit cards, with Watanabe eventually winning out.

"Did you want anything, Mr. Watanabe?" she asked as she took his card.

"Nothing for me today, dear. We were just meeting here before heading next door."

"Oh that's nice," she said, swiping the card. "I'm sure Mr. Akiyama will appreciate—"

"No, no," Watanabe interrupted. "The _other_ next door."

Makoto frowned, thinking of the building that had been empty for as long as her bakery had been open. "The abandoned warehouse?"

"It's not abandoned anymore! Mr. Kitaishi here is renting it!" Watanabe said, patting him on the shoulder. "He's going to be your new neighbor!"

"Kitaishi Taro," he said, bowing politely. "Guess we'll be seeing more of each other, huh?"

"Yeah I uh . . . I suppose so," she said weakly. "I'm uh . . . Kino Makoto—"

"I've already told Mr. Kitaishi all about you and your wonderful bakery, Makoto dear," Watanabe interjected.

"Great." Makoto smiled, hoping it looked even remotely convincing. "Perfect."

She watched as Taro took his first bite of pain au chocolat, her smile turning real as he nodded in satisfaction.

"Well, shall we, Mr. Kitaishi?"

"Of course," he said with a smile. As Watanabe made his way to the front door, Taro held back for a moment. "Hey, this pastry is great!"

Makoto smiled. "I'm so glad you like it!"

"Your coffee tastes like shit, though. Can't win them all, I guess," he said with a shrug as the smile slid from her face. "Well, see ya' round, neighbor."

* * *

"Mako, I've finished wiping down everything so I'm gonna head out."

Aoi slung her bag over her shoulder as Makoto sat hunched over a pile of bills at one of the bistro tables in the bakery's modest seating area.

"Thanks, Aoi," Mako said, getting up to unlock the deadbolt on the front door to let her out.

"One of the cases had the biggest handprint I've ever seen!" she said, scrunching up her nose. "It was ridiculous!"

Makoto rolled her eyes as she opened the door for Aoi. "You'd think grown men would know better . . ."

"You know they don't," Aoi laughed as she headed outside. "See you tomorrow!"

"Yep!" Makoto waved, then shut and locked the door. She resisted the urge to press her forehead against the cool glass that Aoi had just cleaned, turning to rest her back against it instead.

She smiled as she looked at her bakery—her baby, her dream. It had taken years to save up enough to open her own place, but Floribunda had finally opened its doors the previous summer. She'd poured everything she had into it—all of her energy, talents, and money. Every bit of it—from the mint-green wall color to the dozens of recipes she'd perfected to the rattan chairs she'd spent months picking out—was hers . . . was _her_.

But being a business owner, as she was learning, was truly tough work. Returning to her seat, she sighed as she looked at the bills in front of her. Even with Minako agreeing to work part-time for little more than minimum wage and leftover baked goods, the bakery was barely scraping by. She thought she'd actually be in the black this month . . . until one of her ovens broke and she had to pay for a very expensive repair.

If only she could afford a better location—one that got more than just the bare minimum of foot traffic. Sure, business had been steadily increasing as word got around, but it was much slower than she had anticipated. Most people just plain weren't willing to make the trek to her out-of-the-way neighborhood to try a few pastries.

It made her wonder yet again about her new neighbor. What kind of business could someone like him possibly be starting way out here? She couldn't even begin to fathom what would draw someone so obviously well off to such a location. And not even buying, but renting . . . she just didn't get it. What was this guy's deal?

Unsurprisingly, Minako had been full of guesses earlier in the day.

"It's totally going to be a front for a secret gambling ring," she had speculated. "Or wait, what if it's an illegal sweatshop and we'll have to help all the workers escape! No, no, wait! I know! It's his secret spy lair, Mako! I bet you anything! No one would suspect! Stop shaking your head, you know I'm right!"

Deciding she'd rather deal with the finances at home, Makoto scooped the bills into a pile and dumped them into her purse. Getting up, she smiled as she ran a hand through the sturdy, healthy leaves of one of the numerous plants that decorated the bakery's interior. At least _it_ was flourishing.

Making one last sweep of the bakery, she made sure everything was in its place (and all ovens turned off) before letting herself out and locking the door behind her. As she began her walk home, something caught her eye—a number of oversized posters now affixed to the side of the empty warehouse next door. She could see an enormous four-pointed star featured prominently on each of them, with text that was too small for her to read. Pulling her purse up her shoulder, she made her way over to get a closer look. Her eyes widened as she read:

 _Polaris Coffee Roaster_

 _Opening This Fall_

"A coffee roaster?" she said, shaking her head. "Minako's going to be so disappointed . . ."

* * *

"Welcome to Floribunda," Minako greeted with her usual charming smile as the two men entered the bakery. One she recognized as the secret agent who was setting up a "coffee shop" next door, but the other—who was giving the bakery an unimpressed once-over—was unfamiliar to her.

"Hey Blondie," Taro said, leaning against the counter while the other man peered critically at the food, "where's your beautiful boss today?"

Minako scrunched her nose. "Blondie? Really?"

Taro chuckled, shrugging his shoulders.

She glared, not the least bit mollified by his attempt to charm her. "The name's Minako. Not that you asked."

Taro grinned. "Minako. Sorry."

She sighed. "Makoto's busy in the back. Can _I_ help you with anything?"

The other man stepped forward. He was attractive, in a pretty way . . . or at least would be, if he lost the pinched, sulky look that marred his boyish face.

"What coffee options do you have?" he asked.

"Uh . . . small, medium, and large," she said, pointing to the cups near the register.

"No, I mean what _kinds_ of coffee do you have?"

As he glared at her, Minako realized he was wearing a hint of foundation and mascara to frame his pale green eyes. Between his scowl, the makeup, and his angelic curly blond hair, which he had pulled into a loose ponytail, his overall look was attractive but slightly unsettling—rather like an angry porcelain doll.

"I don't know," she said, "the cheapest kind?"

The man looked personally offended by her answer. He opened his mouth to say something, but Taro put his hand on the man's shoulder and shook his head.

"Don't bother, Yasuo. Less competition for us, right?"

Yasuo rolled his eyes as Makoto stepped through the kitchen door with a tray of fresh mini-quiches.

"Ah-ha," Taro said, eyeing Makoto with a triumphant smile, "she emerges!"

Makoto looked over, surprised to find herself with an audience. "Oh . . . hello, Mr. Kitaishi."

"Taro, please," he said, waving his hand.

"Right . . ." she said as she slid the tray into the display case. "What brings you by?"

"I wanted to bring by my colleague, Ishino Yasuo," he said, indicating the man beside him. Yasuo bowed slightly and Makoto gave him a polite smile. "We were stopping by to see the building and I figured I'd take him on a little tour of the neighborhood. Y'know, let him feel out the area."

"And what do you think of our little neighborhood?" Makoto asked politely, sweeping a few errant hairs from her face.

Yasuo shrugged, his face taking on a sour look again. "It certainly wasn't my first choice."

Makoto chuckled uncomfortably. "It wasn't really mine, either."

"Oh?" Taro said, leaning toward her. "Why did you open your bakery here, then?"

"The price was right," she said with a wan smile.

"At least that's understandable," Yasuo said. "This moron insisted on 'consulting the stars' to pick out possible location."

"Consulting the stars?" Minako asked. "You mean like astrology or something?"

Taro shrugged. "Or something."

"Wild," Minako said, shaking her head.

"Right?" Yasuo said, pleased to have a sympathetic ear.

"But to be fair," Taro said, "the space fulfilled our requirements . . . and the rent is dirt-cheap. And you can't say any of my business decisions have led us wrong, Yasuo."

Yasuo rolled his eyes. "Not yet."

"Anyway," Taro said, turning his attention back on Makoto and leaning his bulky frame against the glass case, "bake anything special for me today, Makoto?"

Minako let out an incredulous laugh. "Is he always like this?" she asked Yasuo in a whisper loud enough to be clearly heard by everyone in the bakery.

"Always," Yasuo replied, giving Minako a long-suffering look. "He's impossible."

"I bake everything special every day," Makoto said diplomatically.

"Well," Taro said as he folded his arms across the top of the case, "why don't you make Yasuo and me a nice grab bag to go. Let's say, a half dozen. Anything at all."

"Alright," she said, grabbing a white paper bag and selecting some of her favorites. The bag was quickly filled and handed over to Minako, who rang them up.

As he was paying, Taro called Makoto over before she could slip back into the kitchen.

"My card," he explained, holding it out to offer it to her. It was a deep, striking blue featuring a single, 4-pointed star embossed in gold on the front and his contact info on the back.

She took it from him and politely studied the elegant design.

Taro winked. "In case you need me for anything."

"Oh, uh . . . thanks," she said, tucking it into her pocket.

Yasuo huffed, grabbing the bag from Taro. "Let's get out of here before you embarrass me further."

"Yeah, yeah," Taro said. "See ya, Makoto. Minako."

"Bye," Yasuo snapped out, then grabbed Taro's elbow and attempted to steer him toward the door.

Minako giggled watching Yasuo try to herd his lumbering friend from the bakery.

"You're so uptight lately," they heard Taro say as the two men exited the bakery. "You have a fight with your boyfriend or something?"

Yasuo's outraged screech was muffled as the door shut behind them.

Minako and Makoto looked at each other, then burst into laughter.

"Things are about to get a lot more interesting around here," Minako said with a grin.

"They sure are," Makoto sighed. She returned to the kitchen, Taro's card weighing heavily in her pocket.

* * *

"Thanks Mr. Morishita, I've got it from here!" Makoto said, making sure the cumbersome bags of flour were properly loaded onto her cart.

"Sure thing, Makoto!" he said, climbing back into his van. "See you next week!"

Waving politely, she watched Mr. Morishita as he drove off and maneuvered his white delivery van down the narrow alley. But as she turned back to her flour she froze, noticing someone nearby staring at her. Realizing it was Taro, she sighed, hoping he would leave her alone.

Her hopes did not come to be.

"Hey neighbor!" he greeted jovially as he started the short jog between the car he had been leaning against and her back door.

She did her best to suppress a cringe. "Heeey . . ."

"Woah, that's quite a delivery! You need any help?"

"No thanks," she grunted, pushing hard to get the heavy load moving. "I got it."

"Are you sure?" he asked, following her as she navigated the cart through the back door and into the dry storage area. "'Cuz I'm more than happy to help."

"It's just my normal delivery, nothing I can't handle," she reassured him, lifting a 25kg bag up and onto an empty shelf.

"It's no problem," Taro said, grabbing a bag off the cart and setting it beside Mako's on the shelf.

"No, really," she grit out, grabbing two bags at the same time, "I got it."

Taro blinked in surprise as she lifted both bags with ease, placing them on one of the highest shelves. He smirked, then grabbed two of his own, mimicking her actions and setting them beside hers once again. He winked at her, flexing his arms playfully as she glared at him.

Mako took a deep breath, the challenge clear in her eyes as she grabbed the three final bags, hefted them into her arms, lifted them, and triumphantly placed them on the shelf, which swayed a little under their weight as she set them down. She slapped her hands, clearing some of the loose flour from her palms as he stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise.

"I can deadlift 100kg," she said, looking him dead in the eye.

 _That ought to scare him off!_ she thought as she fought back a smirk.

Taro cleared his throat. "Look, I have to be honest . . . I'm a little turned on right now."

She raised her eyebrows, silent in her shock. But as he grinned at her she couldn't resist the bubble of laughter rising in her chest. Soon it was taking over, spilling out in fits of giggles, and he smiled widely as she laughed at his audacity.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're completely ridiculous?" she asked, shaking her head as she walked back to the alley.

"Let's see," he said as he followed her, "Yasuo, my old man, my sister . . ."

She turned in surprise. "You have a sister?"

"Sure do. And four brothers. All younger. All a pain in my butt."

"Wow, six kids? That's amazing." She sighed, finding herself once again envious of Taro. The guy just didn't know how good he had it. "I always wanted to be part of a big family."

"Are you an only child?"

"Yep." She looked away, hoping to hide her discomfort. "It's uh . . . just me."

She felt his hand on her shoulder. It was heavy and warm and surprisingly reassuring.

"Hey," he said as she looked up at him, her green eyes wide in surprise, "even if it's just you now, that doesn't mean you can't be part of a big family one day, right?" He squeezed her shoulder, then released it, bringing his hands to his hips.

"I . . . I guess that's true." She smiled as she considered him. Maybe she'd judged him unfairly . . .

"Besides, I'm sure a gorgeous woman like you will have no trouble finding a man to make a big family with," he said with a grin.

Then again, maybe her judgment had been dead on . . .

She rolled her eyes as she leaned her back against the bakery's outer wall. Following her lead, Taro turned and settled his enormous body a pace from hers.

"Hey," she began, her eyes falling on the perfectly ordinary sedan he had been leaning against earlier, "what happened to that fancy car you were driving? The Lamborghini or whatever?"

"You mean the Ferrari?"

"Yeah, the red one. You crash it or something?"

"Nah, that's my old man's car," he said. "I drove it to come sign the lease as a big ol' FU."

"What? What do you mean?"

Taro shifted a little, crossing his arms. "You know how I said I was the oldest of six?"

She nodded.

"Well, as the eldest son, I was told from a young age that I would one day take over the family business from my father."

"I'm guessing the family business wasn't coffee?"

Taro snorted. "Nope. Pharmaceuticals. I played the dutiful son for a few years, and with a mind like mine with a natural acumen for business I obviously was one of his most valuable employees—"

"Obviously," Mako said, once again rolling her eyes.

"But I knew I wanted to do something different with my life. Of course he had a complete conniption when I told him I wanted out. And when I told him it was because I wanted to start a coffee roaster, he totally cut me off."

Mako's jaw dropped. "You're kidding!"

"I wish." He sniffed, kicking his toe into the alley's black asphalt a few times. "I think I'm back in the will now, but I've been on my own since then."

"That's awful . . ."

"Nah, it was for the best, really," he said, looking over at her. "I was able to cash out all of my savings and open up Polaris a few years ago, and I had a lot of support from friends. Yasuo of course helped me out a lot in the beginning—he'd already been in the coffee industry a while and had all the contacts while I had the capital and the business plan. Together, we were able to grow the company and now . . ." Taro spread his arm toward his new building.

Makoto grinned. "And now you're a success all on your own."

"As if there was any doubt that I wouldn't be," Taro said, crossing his arms with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Right," Mako said with an amused sigh. "And your dad let you borrow his car to sign the lease after all that?"

"Hah!" Taro shook his head. "No way. I just went over to his place and took it while he was at work."

"Seriously?" Makoto's eyes widened. "What if he found out?"

"Oh, I told him myself," Taro said, pulling out his phone and tapping it to unlock it. "Sent him this as soon as the lease was signed." He swiped a few times then held it up, showing Mako a picture of himself leaning against the shiny red sports car in front of the new Polaris location, giving the camera a one-fingered salute. "I got Watanabe to take that for me," he told her with more than a bit of pride in his voice.

"Oh my god . . ." Imagining their brownnosing landlord agreeing to take a picture of Taro flipping the bird was too much for Mako, and she burst into laughter. He chuckled with her, and they soon fell into a companionable silence.

"I just realized," he said, reaching out and tapping one of her pink rose earrings, "that your earrings match the rose on your Floribunda sign."

"Oh, yeah." She brought her fingers to the earring he had touched, feeling the miniature petals under her fingertips. "I've had these earrings since I was a kid. My . . . my dad got them for me."

"Well, they suit you," he told her, his voice soft and kind. "They bring out the beautiful green of your eyes."

She looked at him in surprise, a blush growing on her cheeks.

"Hey Mako?"

Startled to hear a new voice, Makoto jerked away from Taro and turned to find Aoi poking her head out of the bakery's back door.

"Oh, uh," Mako began, pushing herself off of the wall, "yeah Aoi?"

"The dough for the sticky buns is done proofing . . . did you want me to go ahead and roll it out for you?"

"No, no, that's alright," she said. "I'll do it."

"Alright," Aoi said, then disappeared back inside.

Taro stepped forward with a smile. "Guess I'd better let you get back to work."

"Yeah, sorry. Those buns won't bake themselves."

"I'm glad we finally got a chance to chat, though," he said, reaching out to lightly touch her elbow. "I'm really looking forward to getting to know you better."

Mako did her best to fight the blush once again creeping up her neck. He was giving her that smile again, the one that turned her insides to goo and made her forget what year it was. "Uh, yeah . . . yeah, me too."

"And maybe next time I stop by I can check out your buns," he said, waggling his eyebrows, then laughed when she smacked his shoulder. "See ya, Mako!"

She sighed, shaking her head as sauntered over to Polaris with his hands in his pockets. But, as she watched him, she couldn't help but grin. He may be an arrogant flirt, but . . . he did have a nice smile.

* * *

". . . and _then_ , one morning, we saw Mr. Watanabe with the widow across the street—"

"The with the glass eye?" Yasuo asked, leaning toward Minako across the bistro table they were sharing.

"Yes! Oh my god, it was so funny—"

"Jeez, Yasuo," Taro said, entering the bakery and interrupting Minako in the midst of her gossip, "I've been looking all over for you!"

Yasuo looked up, narrowing his eyes when he spotted Taro coming toward their table.

"I'm eating, ok?" he huffed, indicating the picked-over croissant sitting in front of him. "And besides, it's not like I can get any work done over there with all the noise and construction happening. I get more done if I'm over here."

"Oh yeah, looks like you're getting tons of work done," Taro drawled, pointing to the laptop peeking out of the bag leaned against Yasuo's chair.

"Look," Yasuo said, leveling Taro with a glare, "I'm not leaving until I'm finished eating, so why don't you go flirt with Mako or something?"

Taro scowled as Minako giggled.

Yasuo held up a hand, waving his fingers at Taro. "Bye-bye, now!"

Muttering under his breath, Taro stalked toward the counter where Mako, having observed the entire scene, was biting on her lips, clearly attempting to hide a smile.

"I swear," Taro told her, "you'll have to start charging Yasuo rent soon considering how often he's over here."

"I can hear you, _asshole_ ," Yasuo called. "Also, this is the only civilized place in this entire neighborhood, so _obviously_ this is where I'm going to spend my time."

"Honestly, it's fine," Mako said, getting Taro's attention. "I don't mind, really."

Taro's bulky shoulders drooped as he sighed. "It's probably for the best, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"He's happier, you get more money, and he's off my back. A win-win-win."

Mako laughed, bringing a grin to Taro's face. "I suppose that's true!"

Taro leaned against the counter. "Now if only he would stop distracting your employees . . ."

"Hey!" Minako shouted. "For your information, I am perfectly capable of distracting myself without Yasuo's help, thank you very much. And," she added, "for the record, my shift ended half an hour ago." She stuck out her tongue for good measure before turning back to Yasuo to resume their gossip as Taro shook his head in amusement.

"So uh, you want some coffee or something while you're here?" Mako offered.

He grimaced, shuddering a little at her suggestion. "Uh, no thanks, Makoto. Your coffee leaves a lot to be desired."

"Well, it's cheap and it does the job." She cleared a few crumbs off of the countertop, sweeping them into her hand. "And to be perfectly honest, I don't really like coffee all that much so . . ." she said as she disposed of the crumbs in a nearby trashcan.

Taro's eyes bugged with shock. "You don't . . . you _don't like coffee?_ "

She shrugged. "I'm more of an herbal tea girl." Picking up a nearby beverage menu, she pointed out the extensive tea section to him. "See? I have a Floribunda tea blend with roses in it and everything."

"Herbal tea . . ." he said weakly as he looked through the menu. "Man, Mako, I don't know if things are going to work out between us."

"I'll take my chances," she said with a grin.

Taro set the menu back on the counter. "You know, I think I'll just get my usual."

"Pain au chocolat?" she asked as he nodded. "Sure thing. To go?"

"Yeah. Hopefully Yasuo's ready to leave soon." He turned to peer at Yasuo, who was bringing a single flake of his picked-apart croissant to his mouth as Minako chattered at him. Taro rolled his eyes. "Though that's probably wishful thinking . . ."

"How's the remodeling going?" Mako asked as she rang him up. "We've had so many construction workers in here the past few weeks . . . not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"It's going really well, actually. All of the roasters are installed and ready to go so at least we can get that up and running and transfer wholesale production from our old location in the next week."

"Wow, that's great!" she said, handing him the bag containing his pastry.

"The café portion of the building is still a few weeks out, but things are coming along." He opened the bag and took a huge bite of the pain au chocolat. "Oh god, that's so good," he said with a sigh as he chewed. "You don't put like, drugs or anything in these, do you?"

"Not this batch, no," she said with a grin.

"I seriously think I'm getting addicted to these. I think I've eaten at least fifty of them in the last few weeks." He took another bite, but his chewing slowed as a pensive look grew on his face.

"What? What is it? Is something wrong?" Makoto asked with concern.

"No, no . . . I just had a thought." A grin spread across his face as his chewing picked up speed again. "What if we do a swap?"

Makoto leaned her hands against the counter. "A swap? What do you mean?"

"You supply Polaris with your addictive pastries," he said, holding up the bag, "and I will supply Floribunda with my fantastic, non-shitty coffee."

Makoto bit her lip. "I don't know . . . I don't really have the time to increase my daily production and get into wholesale, to be honest."

"Oh, c'mon, even if it's just a few dozen biscotti or something? That wouldn't take that long, would it? Plus, you'd be getting free coffee out of it!"

Makoto frowned. "Let me think about it, OK?"

"Oh my GOD!" Minako's raised voice suddenly cut through their conversation. They looked over to find her clutching Yasuo's phone, staring at the screen. " _That's_ your boyfriend!?"

Yasuo smirked as he basked in Minako's envy. "That's right."

"He's like, the hottest guy I've ever seen! Is he bi?" she asked, wiping the smirk from Yasuo's face. "'Cuz I don't mind sharing if you don't . . ."

"Get your own man!" he said as he snatched his phone from Minako's grasp. "This one's mine!"

"Jeez fine . . ." Minako sat back, crossing her arms. "Didn't realize you'd be so old-fashioned . . ."

Makoto leaned closer to Taro. "Let me guess—does Yasuo's boyfriend have light blond hair?"

Taro grinned. "Light blond? Iwao's hair is whiter than my grandma's."

She sighed, shaking her head at Minako's predictability. The girl definitely had a type.

Yasuo stalked over to the counter, his bag slung across his chest. "I'm leaving now," he huffed.

"Alright," Taro said as Yasuo stalked off. "See you later, ladies."

"Bye guys," Makoto said as the boys made their way to the door.

"Bye!" Minako echoed, joining Makoto at the counter.

"Oh and Mako," Taro said, turning back from the door before it closed, "promise you'll give my proposition some thought!"

"Yeah . . ." She waved half-heartedly as he disappeared.

Minako propped an elbow on the counter. "What proposition? Did he finally ask you out?"

Makoto scowled. "No . . . that he'll provide Floribunda with coffee if I provide Polaris with pastries."

"Really?" Minako drummed her fingers as she mulled over the idea. "You know, that's not a bad idea at all!"

"On the surface it sounds fine, but honestly Minako, I spend so much time working already . . . I just don't have the resources to make pastries for another business on top of this one!"

"Oh, I'm sure he doesn't need that many. Hey, what if you gave him the pastries you couldn't sell the day before or something?"

Makoto laughed. "Stale pastries? Come on. I can't do that."

"I still think you could make it work," Minako said as she hoisted herself to sit on the counter. "It's free coffee, after all—one less bill for you to worry about. And I'm sure Taro would be willing to take whatever you would give him."

"I don't know . . ." Makoto turned and busied herself with side work. "It's just . . . going into business with Taro seems awfully risky."

Minako scrunched her nose. "You think so? He seems like a pretty sure bet to me. It's obvious that to him you can do no wrong."

Makoto shook her head as she straightened the various items that had wandered throughout the workday. "He's just a sweet talker."

"What? No way!"

Makoto turned, one eyebrow raised incredulously.

Minako sighed, rolling her eyes. "I mean, yes, he is an absolutely shameless flirt, but not about _this._ You've got the goods, Mako. Don't sell yourself short."

"OK, let's say I give it a chance. And let's say it goes well for a while."

"Uh huh . . ." Minako nodded.

"But then what if, I don't know, it doesn't work, and then I have to deal with him being next door all the time? Wouldn't that be really awkward?"

"Um . . ." Minako said, confusion clouding her face.

"Or worse, what if he decided he didn't like my baking anymore and found a bakery he liked _better_ , and I had to watch him parade by every day eating someone else's scones?"

Minako narrowed her eyes. "Oh, I think I see what's going on here," she said, pointing her finger in Makoto's face. "This is one of those alliterations, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Y'know, like you _say_ you're talking about pastries and coffee, but really you're talking about you and _him._ "

"OK, first of all, the word you're thinking of is _metaphor_. And second of all," she huffed as she grabbed a rag and started furiously wiping the already-clean prep area, "no way am I talking about him and me. Just . . . no. Nope."

"Uh huh," Minako said, hopping off of the counter. "Well, I wasn't the one making the alliteration here."

"There was no alliteration!" Makoto said as she slapped the rag onto the counter. "And no metaphor, either!"

Minako wandered over to the table she had shared with Yasuo and picked up her purse. "Sure, Mako," she said as she grabbed her jean jacket. "Well, if you want my advice, there's no harm in giving Taro's proposition a try."

"And if it doesn't work out?"

"So what?" Minako grinned as she shrugged on her jacket in preparation for stepping into the early-autumn evening. "Don't think you'd even notice."

Makoto raised her eyebrows. "Oh yeah? How's that?"

"You seem to have forgotten, Mako," Minako said, pausing at the door, "that you don't even drink coffee."

* * *

The days were growing shorter and the nights cooler, but tucked inside her bakery, Mako was safe from the evening's chill. It was after hours and the doors were locked, the other employees long since gone. Now, with nothing to distract her, Makoto was free to experiment and play with new recipes, letting the flavors of the season and her imagination guide her. At times like this, the bakery was her playground, the ovens and mixers her trusty playmates.

She hummed, letting her hips sway as she put the finishing touches on a batch of experimental tart crusts—spooning, then smoothing, frangipane filling in the bottom of each tart. The crusts had already been partially baked on their own; now it was time for a second round in the oven with the addition of the almond filling. Makoto slid the tarts into the oven with a smile, then plucked a thin slice of persimmon from the cool metal worktable, popping it into her mouth as she set the timer. But partway through slicing an apple for the topping, a knock on the bakery's front door interrupted her.

Mako didn't bother looking up from her work, assuming whoever it was would see the Closed sign soon enough and go away.

Another round of knocks proved her wrong.

She paused, yelling, "We're closed!" and hoped that the person at the door heard her.

But instead of stopping, the knocking just grew more insistent.

She sighed, wiping her hands on her apron and stepped through the kitchen doorway and into the seating area, prepared to chase whoever it was away, but, recognizing Taro's hulking form in the doorway, she hurried over to unlock the door.

"Evening, Beautiful," he said through the glass.

"Is everything OK?" she asked as she opened the door for him.

He bent down, picking up a large tray jammed with coffee equipment. "We finally got the all of the equipment delivered to the cafe," he explained as he entered the bakery, "and I noticed your kitchen light on, so I thought I'd come bring you a special delivery."

"Taro, I've told you before, I don't like—"

"Ah-ah-ah!" he said. "You don't like _that_ coffee," he said, jabbing a finger toward her coffee maker, "but you haven't tried _my_ coffee."

The shrill beeping of her timer interrupted them.

"Hold on, I have tarts in the oven . . ." she said as she made her way back to the kitchen.

"Perfect!" Taro said, following her. "I'll just set this up while you do your thing."

She rolled her eyes as she turned off the timer. Taro made himself at home, plugging in and filling a stainless steel electric kettle with water as she checked her tarts and, once she had made sure they were properly baked, removed them from the oven.

"You don't mind if I grab some of your mugs, do you, Mako?" he asked, already walking to the other room to get them.

"Go right ahead," she told his retreating form. "Not like you'd listen to me if I said no anyway . . ." she muttered.

Soon he was back, three mismatched floral mugs hooked between his fingers.

"So, what are you making?" he asked as he pulled out a digital scale and began prepping the ceramic pour over cones. "You don't usually stick around so late."

"I'm experimenting with seasonal tarts," she explained, cutting a plum into thin slices. "I can't decide if I want a crust with a hint of yuzu or if I should stick with almond, and I also am unsure if I want all persimmon topping, or if I should mix it with plum or apple. So I'm just making all the variations to see."

"Sounds like quite the production."

Eyeing Taro's increasingly complex set-up, Makoto couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Speak for yourself there, buddy. What are you even up to?"

He smirked as he poured a small bag of ground coffee into each pour over cone. "I know that you have been deprived of quality coffee, so I thought I'd give you a taste of my three most popular blends to help you see the light."

"Wait . . . you're making me _three_ cups of coffee?"

Setting the first cup on the scale, he poured just enough of the now-boiling water into the ceramic cone on top to get the coffee grounds wet. "That's right."

"You're making me," Makoto said, the knife in her hand accentuating her words, "a person who doesn't like coffee and who has to go to bed stupidly early in order to get up stupidly early, three cups of coffee after dark?"

"Hey, I figured if you're going to start serving my coffee over here, you should probably try some of it."

"I still haven't agreed to that!"

"You don't have to drink all of it," he said as he poured boiling water over the grounds in earnest. "Just try them."

Makoto pursed her lips. "Just a sip," she said, pointing her knife at him, then returned to her plums. His back was facing her, and though he was quietly going about his tasks, Makoto found herself glancing again and again at his powerful form, watching his muscles flex and shift as he worked. After nearly cutting her finger for the third time, she silently cursed and forced herself to concentrate on the work in front of her.

Plums now sliced, she pulled the first partially baked almond tart crust over and began layering slices of plum and persimmon in a rosette pattern over the frangipane filling, pleased at how the bold orange of the persimmon and the delicate yellows, pinks, and purples of the plums played off each other like a beautiful autumn bouquet. The next tart received a rosette of persimmon and crisp apple, while the final tart was decorated solely with persimmon, beautiful in its simplicity.

Satisfied, Makoto turned to the other set of crusts—which had less almond in the dough but had the addition of yuzu zest to give the tarts a subtle citrusy flavor—and carefully replicated each fruit rosette.

Picking up the baking sheet, she carefully loaded the tarts into the oven as Taro set down his kettle with a firm clack.

"I'm ready when you are," he told her.

Mako smirked as she closed the oven door.

"For the record," she told Taro as she set her timer, "I decorated six tarts in the same amount of time that it took you to make three cups of coffee."

Taro looked over, giving Makoto an unimpressed shake of his head. "There are some things you just can't rush, Makoto. A good cup of coffee . . ." A smile played on his lips as he gave her an appraising look. "Among other things."

Makoto turned her head, hating that she blushed.

"Now," he said, taking her by the shoulders and guiding her to stand in front of the three cups of steaming coffee, " _it's_ _coffee time_." He picked up the first cup and handed it to her.

Makoto bent her head and took a deep whiff of the steaming coffee. "Well it certainly smells a lot better than the coffee we have here."

"I should think so. Comparing this coffee to _that_ coffee is like comparing the tarts you just put in the oven to those pound cakes you get in the freezer aisle."

"Point taken," she said with a grimace. "So what is this, anyway?"

Taro rubbed his hands together as a smile grew on his face. "You have in your hand Black Hole Dark Roast."

"Dark roast?"

"That's right. We get our beans green—totally raw from the farmers we work with. There are various roasting levels that we use depending on what works best for the bean and if we are going for a specific flavor profile. This blend has been roasted for longer to get a higher internal temperature than our other roasts, so you will note a deep, chocolaty-molasses flavor with some dark sugar sweetness since it's been roasted long enough for the sugars in the coffee beans to be caramelized."

"Wow, ok." She took a tentative sip, squinting her eyes as she let the coffee float across her tongue as she tried to taste the flavors Taro had described for her. The first thing she noticed was the lack of bitterness compared to the other coffee she'd had—but it was still _coffee_ and a bit overwhelming in its flavor.

"Well? What do you think?" he asked, unable to read her inscrutable expression.

"Uh . . . well, it's definitely the best cup of coffee I've had," she admitted. "I think I can taste some of that molasses?" she said, offering the cup back to him.

He smiled, taking the cup and setting it back on the counter. "You must have a good palate—not surprising since you're a baker." Carefully he picked up the next cup and handed it to her.

Once again, she bent down to smell the coffee. "Hmm, this one smells . . . a little more fruity? It's nice."

"That's Morning Star Breakfast Blend. It's a medium roast so it hasn't been in the roaster as long as Black Hole, which means you'll taste more of the flavor of the beans themselves rather than tasting the flavors from the roasting process like in dark roasts. This blend has notes of citrus and stone fruits, as well as some nice honey and subtle caramel flavors."

She smelled the coffee again, this time picking out hints of citrus, as he had mentioned. Taking another sip, she again did her best to appreciate the flavors he had described and ignore the fact that it was _coffee_ that she was drinking.

"It's interesting how different they taste." She reached out and gave the cup back to him. "I guess I never really realized how much difference the roast makes."

"Not just the roast, but the beans too," he explained, setting the cup down. "If your beans are no good no roast will salvage them. That's why so many coffee companies over-roast their beans—because their beans aren't good, they make up for it by roasting the crap out of them. That's how you end up with the bitter, burned-tasting coffee that you get at Charbucks."

Makoto grinned. "Charbucks?"

He picked up the last cup and handed it to her. "You heard me. And, for the record, they still have better coffee than you do."

Glaring, she took the cup from him. "So what's this one?"

"This is our fall blend, Watcher of the West, and my personal favorite at the moment. Of the three, this is the lightest roast, meaning almost all of the flavors from the beans were retained and you won't get as much roasted flavor, leading to a brighter profile. You will get a blend of crisp apple and ginger, and a hint of toffee coming through. And, for the record, I think this would pair wonderfully with those tarts in the oven."

Taking a good whiff of the coffee, she was unsurprised to find that it was different from the other two blends. Her sip confirmed it as well, but the flavors were . . .

"Too much?" he asked as she scrunched her face.

"It's a little . . . acidic, I guess." She handed the cup back to him.

He kept it, taking a drink. "Different strokes, I guess. You might like it once you get more used to drinking coffee."

"You say that like it's a guarantee."

Looking up from his coffee, he merely winked.

She rolled her eyes. "So . . . where did the name Water of the West come from, anyway? It seems out of place with Black Hole and Morning Star."

"Maybe on the surface. Our four seasonal blends are named after the four Royal Stars of Ancient Persia, known as the Watchers of the East, North, West, and South. They were used for navigation but were also thought to rule the four districts of the sky and also predict or influence the future."

"Ancient astrology, huh?"

He nodded, taking another drink of his coffee.

"So, is it true what Yasuo said?" Mako asked. "About you finding this place because of astrology?"

Taro slowly put down the cup. "You could say that. But, not in the conventional way. It's . . . it's difficult to explain."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean when I've tried explaining it to people before, they tend to think I'm nuts."

"Then there's no problem since I already think you're nuts."

He chuckled, but she could sense the discomfort in his laugh. He picked up his coffee again, avoiding her gaze as he drank.

Narrowing her eyes as the silence stretched on and on, she finally declared, "I can control the weather."

He quickly turned toward her, eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." She crossed her arms. "But not like, consciously or anything. More like . . . the weather and my moods are connected."

Taro relaxed, taking a quick sip of coffee. "Oh, yeah, I get depressed in the winter, too."

"No, not like that," she said, dismissively waving a hand. "That's just normal stuff. I mean, when I get really upset, suddenly it starts storming outside. Or when I'm really happy, a rainy day will clear up. All my friends have noticed. If there's a really bad storm they all call and check on me and make sure I'm ok."

"You're shitting me."

"It's totally true, you can ask Minako. After my parents died—" She stopped suddenly, shocked at herself for bringing it up so casually. Wide eyed, she looked at Taro, whose concern was plain on his face. "Um, after they died," she continued, "it stormed for weeks."

"Mako . . ." he said softly, reaching out to her.

"It was a long time ago." She smiled reassuringly, allowing him to run a comforting hand down her arm. "An army of therapists, a buttload of martial arts, and my amazing friends got me through it all. Don't worry about me—I'm strong."

"I've known that for a long time," he said, putting a hand on hers and squeezing it for a split second.

Feeling her cheeks grow red, she decided it was high time to change the subject. "OK, your turn," she said, gently pulling her hand from his. "Tell me about your crazy astrology."

Taro chuckled. "Alright, fair enough." He crossed the short distance to her, settling beside her to lean against the worktable. "Like I said before, it's a little hard to explain," he said as he adjusted his long hair behind his shoulders, "but ever since I was a kid, I noticed that, if I listened really hard, the stars . . . would talk to me."

"Talk to you?"

"Tell me things. About my friends, my family, myself . . . how my little sister was going to break her arm before it happened, or my father's newest business venture would fail before he had even signed the papers, or how I should take the risk and start my own company. It's like they whisper fate to me, a little bit at a time."

She pursed her lips. "Fate, huh?"

He smiled. "What, don't you believe in fate?"

"I suppose I believe some things are fated," she said, settling her hands on the worktable's surface. "Like, meeting my friends, or opening this place—"

"Or me opening my place right next to yours?"

Cocking her head, she considered him. "Maybe."

"The stars have never lied to me, Mako. Finding a new, bigger location was essential for growing my business, and I wasn't about to take any chances, even if Yasuo does think I'm a nutjob for utilizing their guidance. And coming here is something I've never doubted," he said, looking at her. "Not for a second."

"I guess I can't fault you for it, not really," she said. "When I was looking for locations for my bakery, I had my friend do something similar. She's a miko and does a lot of fire readings and things like that. Before I signed the lease here, she came with me to check it out."

"And?"

"She said it had 'good energy,' whatever that means," she said, waving her hand around.

"Good energy, huh?" he said as he nudged her shoulder with his.

"Yep. I still had her bless the crap out of it before I started remodeling."

"Naturally," he said.

"It hasn't been easy, though. I've struggled a lot since I opened." Sighing, she faced forward to gaze out at her bakery. "I'm still not sure if this place is gonna make it."

"I think you're going to be just fine. Pretty soon this place is going to get a write up in the _Asahi Shimbun_ or the _Mainichi Yomiuri_ and then you'll have lines down the block."

"Oh yeah?" She turned to look at up him and was surprised at just how near he was . . . and by the incredible, rich blueness of his eyes—eyes as dark and deep as the night sky. "Did the stars tell you that?"

"I don't need the stars to tell me that," he said, placing a hand on hers. "I already know you're going to be a success."

Makoto knew she was blushing again but she couldn't look away, unwilling break Taro's intense gaze. She saw his eyes briefly flicker to her lips and felt her heart speed up as he began moving ever closer.

 _Is this really happening?_ she wondered.

Swaying forward, Makoto closed her eyes, her breath catching as—

 _Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!_

The oven's shrill alarm tore through the moment, making her jump away from him. Makoto hopped up, rushing to silence the alarm and fetch the tarts. By the time she had made sure they were all done and transferred them to cool, Taro was already busying himself with cleaning up his coffee supplies.

Looking at his cool and collected form, Makoto wondered if she'd imagined the whole thing.

"Um . . ." she began, "is everything alright?"

He turned to her with a smile. "Everything's great, Beautiful. But, unfortunately I am needed next door. My absence has been noticed and, judging by Yasuo's latest dozen texts to me, I have about two minutes before he comes storming over here to drag me back himself."

"Oh." Makoto was surprised to find that she was disappointed that he was leaving.

"Actually, one of the reasons I wanted to drop by here tonight was to give you this." Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out an envelope bearing her name written in artful calligraphy and handed it to her.

She examined it curiously, then opened it and removed the card tucked inside. It was an invitation to Polaris's soft opening—slated for that Thursday night, just four days away.

"Friends, family, and industry people," Taro explained. "Invitation only, but of course everyone here at Floribunda is welcome. It will be catered with a fully stocked bar with plenty of champagne."

"Sounds wonderful," Mako said.

"It's going to be a great party, that's a guarantee. Yasuo even got some hoity-toity DJ friend of his to agree to spin for it," he said. "And . . . I'd really like for you to be there, Mako. There's someone really special that I'd like you to meet."

Nodding, she gave him a smile. "Of course. I'd love to."

"Perfect." The look in his eyes when he returned her smile left her a little weak in the knees. "Well, I should—"

"Hey, hold on a second," she said, interrupting him as he grabbed his tray. "Let me make a to-go bag for you so you and Yasuo can try these tarts and let me know which one you like the best."

"How could I say no to that?" he said.

Grabbing a nearby knife, she cut the tarts in half, making sure they would have a sample of each flavor combination. "Oh! And . . ." she said, mostly to herself as she picked up a yuzu and cut it in half, then squeezed it over the tarts with yuzu zest in the crust to give them an extra burst of flavor. Packing them carefully in one of the bakery's white paper to-go bags, she then balanced it on top of Taro's coffee accoutrements. "Here you go!"

"Thank you, Mako."

"Of course!" she said, helping to lead him through the dark café to the front door, where they paused as she unlocked the door for him.

"I mean," Taro said, "not just for the tarts—which, believe me, I am thankful for. Thank you . . . for everything."

He didn't elaborate, but she didn't need him to. The emotion shining in his deep blue eyes said everything.

"Any time."

She held the door open for him, grazing his strong arm with her fingers as he walked by.

"Have a good night," she told him.

He nodded. "You too."

Once the door was locked behind him and she was sure he was gone, she leaned her overheated body against its cool glass, even though it meant she'd have to clean it again before she left.

Makoto let out a long sigh as she thought of their _almost_ kiss. Did it really happen? Was it just her imagination? Was she totally misinterpreting him? All this time, she had written him off as just some harmless—albeit often aggravating—flirt, when maybe, just _maybe,_ there was something more there than she had realized.

Makoto could hardly believe the things she'd told him, admitted to him, like it was nothing. But maybe the weirdest part of all was how . . . _not_ weird it had felt to share a deeper part of herself with him.

She slid down the door, putting her head on her knees as she reached the tile floor.

 _He almost kissed me,_ she thought. _And I almost let him._

She was in trouble and she knew it.

* * *

"Wow, Mako, _cute_ outfit!" Minako told her as she emerged from the bathroom where she had changed into a sophisticated creamy blouse and black skirt combo that showed off her killer legs, her hair now up in a soft bun and makeup reapplied in preparation for the opening celebration already in full swing next door.

The days since Taro's after-hours visit had passed in a confusing blur. He had stopped by the bakery a few times, but with the opening so near, his visits had been quick, their interactions brief. The few flirtatious quips and winks he'd thrown her way had done little to clear her confusion—they were standard fare as far as Taro went. She cursed him not a few times for being so infuriatingly confusing.

And, though she had told Minako about his visit, she had avoided mentioning their maybe-almost kiss, deciding to keep her confused emotions to herself for the time being. She didn't think she could handle the amount of enthusiasm—good or bad—that Minako typically had for all of her friends' love lives, especially when the feelings that had begun to blossom in her were still so new.

Now, on their way to join the party, Makoto hoped that the evening might provide some clarity for her.

"Is that a new blouse?" Minako asked her. "I don't think I've seen it before."

"No, it's not . . ." she said, smoothing out her skirt. Mako looked up, suddenly nervous. "Why, do you think I should have bought something new?"

"I just said I liked your outfit!" Rising from the table she was occupying in the deserted bakery, Minako made her way to Makoto, whose fingers were now subconsciously picking at her blouse.

"Oh, right . . ."

"Stop that." Minako lightly smacked Makoto's hand away from her top. "Why are you being so fidgety?"

"No reason," she said, avoiding eye contact. "It's nothing. I just haven't been out for a while is all."

Minako smiled and reached out to take Mako's hand. "Well, you look awesome. It's nice to see you dressed up and not covered in flour for once."

"Thanks," Mako said and gave Minako's hand a squeeze. "You look cute, too."

"Duh, I always look cute." She twirled in her high heels to show off her red pleather miniskirt and fluffy black sweater covered in sequined lipstick appliqués—a look only someone with Minako's looks and confidence could pull off.

Makoto grinned, shaking her head as her friend exaggeratedly preened. "And thank you for watching the place while I got ready."

"No problem!" Minako said. "It meant I got to ogle all of the swanky rich people Taro invited as they walked by."

They both turned toward the window, taking a few seconds to watch the steady parade of people on their way to the party.

Makoto reached up to tap her chin. "Sure would be nice if some of these people came back and spent some of their money here."

"Yeah, that's definitely one benefit of having rich friends," Minako said as she checked her makeup in her phone camera.

"Hey," Makoto said as a flash of white hair outside caught her attention, "isn't that Yasuo's boyfriend?"

"Where?! Where?!" Jumping up to look out of the window, Minako caught sight of him just before he slipped out of view. "Oh my god! Mako, do you mind if I head over there?"

"Not at all," she chuckled. "I'll be over as soon as I finish closing."

"Thanks!" Grabbing her purse, which was shaped like a pair of giant, shiny red lips, Minako was quickly out of the door, in hot pursuit of her unattainable prey.

Thankfully, the remaining closing duties took little time, and Makoto soon found herself ready to go. After taking one last look at herself in the bathroom mirror, she turned off the lights and stepped out, dead bolting the door behind her. As she took the keys out of the lock she paused, taking a moment to breathe deeply in an effort to steady her nerves.

 _It's just Taro, for goodness sake!_ she chided herself as she began the walk next door. _You're being ridiculous!_

Passing the enormous front windows of Polaris, she paused to admire how incredible the chic industrial interior looked now that it was complete and lit up for the party. Inside, the wealthy were milling about with hip industry people, everyone enjoying the food and drinks being passed by servers in smart black vests and bowties. The promised DJ was set up in a corner, and she could hear the faint sounds of some type of chill electronic music through the window.

She smiled as she spotted Minako and Yasuo, who were chattering away as Yasuo's marble statue of a boyfriend stood impassively between them.

Then, a group of people near them shifted. Time seemed to slow as she got a clear view of Taro . . . with his arm around the shoulders of a gorgeous woman, her wavy black hair cropped in a chic pixie, her impossibly stylish outfit draping off of her perfect figure.

Feeling her heart skip a beat, she willed herself not to jump to any conclusions. But when he leaned over and kissed her temple, Makoto's heart dropped.

 _"There's someone really special that I'd like you to meet . . ."_

His words swirled through her mind as she watched them, their body language with each other clearly loving and comfortable, her heart breaking a little more with each passing second.

" _There's someone really special . . ."_

Thunder began to rumble nearby as tears pricked her eyes. She shut her eyes tight, willing herself to be strong as her heart crumbled.

She felt like a fool.

" _There's someone . . ."_

And it wasn't her.

Turning, she fled into the night as the rain started to fall.

* * *

Makoto was tired. Wiped out. Exhausted.

Physically, mentally, and emotionally.

She stood in front of her decimated pastry cases, wondering how she'd gotten through the past few days of insanity. Because Taro's rich friends hadn't just come back like she'd hoped . . . they'd cleaned her out.

 _Be careful what you wish for_ , she told herself as yet another group of customers came in out of the drizzling rain and started eyeing the few pastries left to buy. She silently thanked whatever deity was listening that a few more batches were already cooling in the kitchen.

The day after the party, she'd been taken genuinely by surprise by the amount of new customers who'd stopped in Floribunda, many leaving raving about what a hidden jewel of a bakery she had and promising to post on every available social media platform about it. She figured it was a one-off, but the next day even more arrived, and the day after, she was forced to close early after customers bought every last baked good in the store. She and Aoi stayed for hours past closing, prepping for the next day, just hoping they could keep up. Now it was all hands on deck—every employee putting in extra time to keep up with demand—and Makoto was already looking through applications for a new fulltime employee to add to the team.

To say she was shocked was an understatement.

But at least it had kept her busy—and kept her mind off of a certain man next door. It also gave her a convenient excuse to make herself scarce when he stopped in, especially the few times he'd been accompanied by his girlfriend. Being busier than she had ever been in her life was great for avoidance, but not so great for actually dealing with her feelings.

Her stupid, confusing feelings.

"Is this all you have?" one of the women examining the pastry cases asked.

"More will be out soon!" came Minako's perky reply.

Makoto tried not to glare at her friend as she trudged back into the kitchen to grab the fresh pastries, wishing she could have even a fraction of Minako's seemingly endless energy, even while knowing that a not-insignificant portion of it came from the cups of Polaris coffee that she kept stashing under the counter.

Gently testing some of the pastries and deciding they were cool enough, she carried the trays out to the front, and it wasn't long before several of them were scooped up by the newcomers and taken to go.

Makoto sighed in relief when they left, grateful for the lull in customers, but couldn't help pursing her lips when Minako pulled yet another enormous cup of coffee out from under the counter.

Shaking the cup from side to side, Minako frowned at the sad sloshing sound the small bit of liquid left in it made. "I might have to run next door for another one of these soon," she said after finishing it off.

"We have coffee here, you know," Makoto said, pointing a thumb at the coffee maker, which had gone practically untouched since Polaris had opened.

Minako shook her head sadly. "Sorry Mako, but now that I have tasted the sweet, delicious ambrosia that is Taro's coffee, I don't think I can ever go back . . ."

Flinching at the sound of Taro's name, Makoto slumped against the back counter. "Fine. It's your money. Waste it if you want."

Frowning, Minako hopped onto the counter next to her. "Hey, um, is everything OK?" she asked, nudging Makoto's shoulder with hers.

"Yeah . . . just wiped from all the work we've been doing."

"Hmm, right. Work. Makes sense." Minako turned to look out of the front window, studying the rain with narrowed eyes. "Crappy weather we've been having lately, don't you think?"

"What's your point?"

"Very odd that it came on so suddenly, isn't it? No rain predicted, then _boom!_ Thunderstorm out of nowhere on the night of the party—when you suddenly had a 'headache.'"

Makoto's glare was her only response.

"Hasn't really stopped raining since then, either," Minako went on, unperturbed. "And huh, weird how you've been making yourself scarce whenever Taro comes around."

"Honestly, I don't even know why you're asking me about this," she said, knowing that Minako must be well acquainted with Taro's girlfriend at this point.

"I'm asking because I'm your friend and I'm concerned." Minako hopped down from the counter, standing in front of Makoto with her hands on her hips. "Did he do something? Say something?"

"No, OK? It's nothing."

"Mako, come on. Something must have happened between the two of you . . ."

Makoto scoffed. How could Minako—usually so astute when it came to romance—possibly be this dense? "I don't want to talk about this, Minako. Nothing happened between us," she said, pushing her way past Minako. " _Nothing._ "

And that was precisely the problem.

Makoto stormed into the bustling kitchen, taking refuge in the dry storage area to take deep breaths and try to get her emotions under control. She desperately wanted to rush to her old dojo and punch and jab and kick and throw until she was numb, but the best she had available was a few bags of flour to throw around and dough to pound.

She was just so _frustrated_. And not even at Minako or even stupid Taro—at herself. After all, it wasn't like this was the first time she'd been unlucky in love. She just didn't understand why, several days later, she still hadn't gotten over it. Gotten over _him_. Nor could she understand why Taro, of all people, had been able to cause this level of misery in her. Taro, who was just a gorgeous, insincere playboy. Taro, whose seemingly charmed life stirred more than a few feelings of jealousy within her. Taro, whose arrogance set her teeth on edge.

But she had to admit that Taro had made her feel special. Made her feel wanted and powerful and sexy. He was always seeking her out, always trying to get her attention and approval. Then, when she'd finally opened her heart a crack to let him in, she found out, much to her surprise, that he was already there. He'd managed to charm his way in without her even knowing.

 _But it wasn't real,_ she told herself for the hundredth time. _He wasn't being serious._

Hearing someone tapping on the nearby doorframe, Makoto looked up.

Minako stood gazing at her, her eyebrows knit with concern. "Mako, really, are you OK?"

She smiled sadly. "I will be."

"Hey listen, I'm really sorry if I upset you, that wasn't my intention."

Makoto shook her head. "I know, Mina. It's fine, really."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Makoto replied with a nod.

"Listen," Minako said, stepping closer and gently taking one of Makoto's hands in hers, "if you ever need to talk . . ."

"You'll be the first one I come to, I promise."

Minako smiled, and Makoto couldn't help grinning back—just a little.

"Hey," Makoto said, squeezing Minako's hand, "why don't you go get your coffee refill."

"What, really? You don't mind?"

"Nah. Plus I'm sure Yasuo is missing you. It's been what, an hour since he's been over here?"

Laughing, Minako swung Makoto's hand, still grasped in hers. "Something like that."

After a few promises to be quick that they both knew she would break, Minako was donning her raincoat and making the quick dash next door, Makoto manning the counter for her in her absence.

A few more customers came in, then, during the next lull, as she was swiping all of Minako's empty paper cups into the recycling bin, she heard the door open once again. She gave the familiar greeting, then, looking up, froze when she recognized the wavy black pixie of Taro's girlfriend. Utilizing every ounce of willpower not to curse or flee or spontaneously combust, Makoto instead stood like a deer in headlights as the woman drew closer, giving her a megawatt smile that reminded her faintly of Taro's.

"So you're the famous Makoto," she said as she reached the counter. "I've been dying to meet you for ages."

Swallowing hard, Makoto forced herself to set down the recycling bin, then turned to face the woman.

"Hi. Yes. Hello. I am Makoto," she said with a stiff bow. She was somehow even more gorgeous up close, with deep blue eyes and flawless skin.

"I'm Minori," the woman replied. "I have to confess that I rushed over here as soon as I saw Minako come in."

Makoto fidgeted uncomfortably. "You did?"

"Of course! I'm leaving for the States tomorrow, so I knew this would be my last chance to introduce myself for a while."

 _Nice humblebrag,_ Makoto thought. "Oh yeah? What are you doing in the States?" she asked, purely out of politeness.

Minori scrunched her perfect nose. "Did Taro not tell you? God he's the worst I swear. I'm an exchange student this year. UCLA," she explained. "I decided to make a quick visit on fall break for the opening."

"Ah."

"I have to say, Taro talked up your pastries so much that I thought they couldn't possibly be as good as he said. But after sampling them over the past few days, I have to agree with him. You really are very talented."

Makoto felt herself relax slightly at her sincere compliment. "Thank you. That's very nice of you to say."

"I'm just speaking the truth," Minori said with a smile. "You know, Taro is full of shit a lot of the time, but when it comes to things like this, my brother really does know what he's talking about."

Makoto stared. Her mind had simultaneously stopped working and was running on overdrive. Her brother? "Your brother?" she blurted out. She couldn't possibly mean . . . "Who's your brother?"

Minori raised one of her brows. "Um . . . Taro?"

"Taro's your brother."

"Yes. So our parents say, at least. Did he not tell you I was visiting? God he can be so self-centered sometimes."

"No . . . I didn't know," Minako told her, all anger and frustration she had felt for the woman now totally melted away. "I'm sorry. He . . . I think he wanted it to be a surprise."

"The idiot. It figures." Shaking her head, Minori rolled her eyes. "Oh well. I'm just glad I got to meet you in the end."

Makoto smiled for the first time since Minori had come in. "I'm glad, too."

Minori studied her for a second. "You know, you have the most gorgeous green eyes I've ever seen."

Horrified to find herself blushing, Makoto quickly diverted her eyes to the cash register and cleared her throat. "Is everyone in your family flatterers?"

"Flatterers?" Minori chuckled. "Nah. We just have good taste."

That definitely didn't help Makoto's blush.

"So uh, can I get you anything?" Makoto said as she made a show of bustling around behind the counter. "I know the selection is a little limited right now but there's a fresh batch of persimmon tarts cooling . . ."

"Ooooh, I think Taro told me about those. With plums and stuff, right?"

"That's right. And a hint of yuzu."

"Oh damn," Minori said. "Can I get two to go? No, better make it three. Don't want Yasuo getting on my case for not getting him one."

"You got it." Grabbing a to-go bag, Makoto entered the kitchen with a grin and carefully put three of the tarts inside. She winked at Aoi, who raised an eyebrow at her sudden mood reversal, then swept back to the front of the house, where a new group of customers had queued behind Minori. Makoto handed her the to-go bag with a smile. "On the house," she said as Minori tried to hand her a credit card.

"What? No, come on!" Minori protested, still holding out her card.

"Absolutely not! Besides I really owe your brother. For all the new business, I mean."

"Well all right," Minori said as she pocketed her card, "but only if I can buy you a drink next time I'm in town."

Grinning, Makoto nodded. "I'd like that."

"Perfect." Minori turned to leave, but stopped short when she looked outside. "Hey, check it out!" she said, spinning around to look back at Mako. "It finally stopped raining! Gosh, I was worried it would rain the whole time I was here!"

"Yeah," Makoto replied. "I guess everything cleared up just in time."

"Guess so!" Minori smiled. "See ya!" she said, waving as she left.

Busy for the next half hour trying to juggle customers and endless batches of baked goods that needed to be made, Makoto was relieved when Minako skipped back into Floribunda after her coffee break carrying one of the biggest thermoses Makoto had ever seen. She cringed inwardly, not even wanting to know how hyper Minako would be after that much caffeine.

"Taro let me borrow it," she explained, holding the enormous vessel between both hands. "He said I could keep it until we start carrying his coffee here so I don't have to go over there ever 30 minutes for my next hit of caffeine."

"Wow, how thoughtful of him," Makoto said, rolling her eyes.

Minako nodded as she sipped the hot coffee. "Speaking of, I couldn't help but notice a distinct change in the weather since I was gone."

"Sure seems like it."

Lowering the thermos, Minako's grin turned serious. "Do I take that to mean everything is sunny again?"

"I wouldn't put your umbrella away quite yet, but . . . it's possible."

"Good. I'm glad. And Mako," she said as Makoto began to walk back into the kitchen, "once you get things all figured out, I expect details."

Grinning, Makoto shook her head, but she knew she owed her friend at least that much. "You got it. Now," she said, pointing a finger at her, "back to work."

One very large thermos of coffee and four bathroom breaks later, the bakery was still bustling and Minako was still riding her caffeine high.

An elderly man stepped up to the counter, giving Minako a well-worn scowl.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Akiyama!" Minako cheerfully greeted him. "How are you today?"

He had been a regular since Floribunda had first opened, and Minako was happy to see a familiar face among the new customers, even if he was a notorious grouch.

"I'll be better once I get food," he said gruffly. "I'd like my usual."

"A croissant and a cup of extra-hot coffee?" Minako asked. She frowned as the old man grunted his confirmation.

"The croissant I have, but . . ." She turned and looked at the coffee carafe, trying to remember when the coffee inside had been brewed. Five hours ago? Six? She didn't think anyone else had ordered coffee all day. She looked back at Mr. Akiyama, then leaned toward him. "Wouldn't you rather just go next door for coffee?" she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "It's way better, anyway."

"And spend 1000 yen for one cup of coffee? I don't think so. I don't need any of that fancy stuff," he said, shaking his head. "Just a plain old cup of normal coffee."

Minako sighed. "OK, but I'm going to have to brew a new pot, if you're alright waiting."

"Fine," he said as placed the exact change for his croissant and coffee on the counter—knowing the total before she even rang him up. "Make it quick."

He tottered away to take a seat in the café while she frantically looked for a new bag of ground coffee to open and came up empty handed.

"I'll just be one second!" she reassured the next customer in line as she rushed into the kitchen and into the dry storage area looking for backup bags, shouting in triumph when she spotted a lone bag hiding behind some cocoa nibs. Going back to the front of house, she dumped out the old coffee and put a new filter in the coffee maker. Grabbing the new bag of coffee, she tried to start a tear in its serrated, vacuum-sealed packaging several times with increasing amount of strength until it finally ripped in spectacular fashion, sending pre-ground coffee flying to coat every nearby surface, including herself. She stood amidst the carnage, then looked up at the customer waiting at the register. "Just . . . one more second!" she said feebly before disappearing in the kitchen.

"Everything OK?" Makoto asked, looking up from her tarts as Minako sidled up next to her. "What's all over you?"

"Um, do we have any more coffee?"

"Coffee?" Makoto asked as she continued creating fruit rosettes. "Didn't you just get a bag from storage?"

"Right, well, let's say that we don't have that bag anymore."

Makoto raised an eyebrow as it became clear what the brown dust covering Minako was. "That might have been the last one but I can order more for tomorrow's delivery."

"OK, but what if there was a grumpy old man here who already paid for his coffee and wants it ASAP?"

"Mr. Akiyama?" Makoto asked, passing her tray of finished tarts to one of her assistant bakers to be put in the oven.

"Yeah . . . I could run next door for more coffee, but someone will have to tend the register. There's quite a line of people waiting."

Makoto sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "It's alright," she told Minako. "I'll do it."

"You'll watch the counter?"

"No," she clarified. "I'll go next door."

"Oh." Then, realizing what Makoto had said, she leaned back, her eyes wide with surprise. "Oh!"

The practically manic smile growing on Minako's face was making Makoto rethink her decision.

"It's not a big deal, OK? I'm just getting some coffee beans."

Minako nodded frantically. "Here let me help you with this," she said, practically tearing Makoto's apron off, then slapped some errant flour from her face a little too enthusiastically, causing Makoto to smack her hands away. "Well you'd better get going! Shoo!"

"I will, jeez! Hey Aoi," she called, "I'm just going to be a minute, OK?"

"Uh huh." Aoi smiled from her workstation. "Take as much time as you need!"

"Right . . ." Makoto said as she was pushed from the kitchen by Minako. She could hear the as the rest of her employees sniggering as she left and willed herself not to look back to shoot daggers at all of them.

Deciding it was best not to arrive empty handed when asking for favors and forgiveness, Makoto packed a to-go bag with the half dozen pain au chocolat that were still waiting to be snapped up. Then, with Minako promising to clean up the mess she had made and take care of the swelling line of customers, Makoto took a deep breath and headed outside.

The walk next door was quick and, pulling open the heavy front door, she found Polaris bustling—even more than Floribunda. Each table was claimed and the stools beneath long counter that ran the length of the front windows were almost all occupied. She recognized many of the customers—after all, her pastries were being eaten from to-go bags all over the café—but there were so many people she'd never seen before.

It was mind-boggling to her— _where had all of these people come from?!_

A line several people deep was queued in front of the barista station, which was situated in the exact center of the café. She could see Yasuo working one of the espresso machines, while Taro was grinding beans nearby. Several other baristas were hard at work fixing drinks or manning the register.

Bags of coffee in deep blue were displayed on industrial pipe shelving along one wall. Makoto could make out illustrated labels for Morning Star, Watcher of the West, and Black Hole among many others she didn't recognize. She was impressed—clearly Taro's brand was in demand if so many varieties were in production.

She stood at the end of the line, nervously bunching the folded-over edge of the paper bag in her hands. She had no idea what she would say or how he would react—she could only hope that she hadn't completely destroyed any feelings he might have had with her inexplicably rude behavior over the last several days. And if he did forgive her . . . then what?

She took a deep breath, willing herself not to think about it. She could figure that out later . . . if he gave her the chance.

Yasuo spotted her first. His eyebrows raised in a brief show of surprise, then he was elbowing Taro in the side and pointing to her. She could feel herself blush as Taro looked up at her, his look of shock quickly replaced with that smile of his that never failed to turn her insides to mush.

He waved her over to the counter, and she sent apologetic glances to the people in line who were shooting her judgmental looks for cutting. Many of the baristas had met her in the past week during visits to the bakery and sent her friendly waves, which she shyly returned. Yasuo was blatantly keeping tabs on the situation, glancing at them constantly from his station at the espresso machine.

"Hey there, Beautiful," Taro greeted, leaning across the counter toward her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Makoto looked into his eyes—were they always that spectacular shade of deep blue?—and willed herself to be a totally normal and not-at-all-nervous person.

Finally, she blurted, "Minako spilled the beans."

He blinked at her. "I'm sorry?"

"Literally," she clarified. "Well, ground coffee, anyway. All over my bakery floor."

Yasuo chortled at that, shaking his head as he prepared a shot of espresso.

Taro smirked. "She did, did she?"

"Yep, and now have an angry old man waiting for coffee and find myself . . . coffee-less."

"Well we can't have that," he said, pushing up off the counter.

"Wait, wait!" she said, halting his movements. "First, I have something for you," she said as she offered the bag in her hand to him. "It's pain au chocolat," she explained, "since it's your favorite . . ."

He took the bag from her and peeked inside.

She fidgeted, then said, "And uh . . . I think there's some humble pie in there too somewhere . . ."

Taro raised his eyebrows. "You want me to eat humble pie?"

"No! Ugh! Oh god . . ." Makoto put her fingers to the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. "I mean, for me. I'm the one who needs to eat humble pie."

"Ah." He set the bag on the counter between them. "Does this have to do with why you've been avoiding me?"

Feeling her cheeks grow warm, Makoto nodded. "There was a misunderstanding," she mumbled. "I . . . saw you with your arm around a woman, the night of the party. I thought she was your girlfriend, but turns out . . ."

"She's my sister?" he supplied.

"Yeah."

Taro narrowed his eyes, but there was amusement in them. "You refused to be in the same room with me for almost a week because you saw me with my arm around my sister?"

"Maybe?" she squeaked.

He sighed and shook his head. "Mako . . . I'm really sorry."

Her eyes widened in panic. Was he rejecting her after all? "Why? For what?"

"I'm sorry that I wasn't clear from the start. But the truth is . . ." he said, reaching out to take her hand across the countertop, "I'm really only interested in one woman."

Makoto could feel herself growing warm at his words and the hungry look in his eye. "Really?"

"That's right," he said, leaning over the counter toward her. "I've been trying to get her attention for ages but she never seems to take me seriously."

Makoto swallowed thickly as her upper body drifted closer to his. "Maybe she just had to understand your intentions."

"My intentions, huh?" He looked at her thoughtfully, then grinned. "Don't move, I have something to show you."

She fidgeted as he rummaged under the counter near the espresso machines, quickly examining various bags of coffee.

Yasuo stood nearby watching the scene with a smirk on his face, not even pretending to work anymore. He was busy tapping on his phone—Makoto assumed a hyper blonde was on the other end getting the play-by-play.

Finally finding what he was searching for, Taro grabbed a single dark-blue bag of coffee and returned to stand across from Mako.

"This," he said, cradling the bag in his hands, "is a brand-new blend that I perfected a few days ago. Inspired by a certain beautiful baker, it's a medium roast with floral notes of rose and orange blossom and a hint of vanilla, which would pair beautifully with any number of the pastries next door. I know you don't like coffee, but I think there's just enough of both of us in this that you might enjoy it." He set the bag down, turning it to face her. The label featured the four-pointed star of Polaris nestled in Floribunda's pink rose. "I call this blend Compass Rose."

"Taro . . ." Breathless, she picked up the bag to examine the label. Emotion welled in her as she looked at their symbols entwined together, thinking of the thought and care he had put into what she held in her hand.

"Well?" he asked, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "What do you think?"

Putting the coffee aside, she looked up at him. "What do I think?" she said, grabbing his shirt and pulling him toward her.

Their lips met, and though the metal countertop between them was cold, their kiss was warm and sweet and everything Makoto hoped it would be. She could feel hope and tenderness and understanding in the kiss, and knew he felt it too.

"Did that answer your question?" she asked after they broke apart, and the smile on Taro's face made her want to do it all over again, but the clapping and cheering of the people around them quickly made her remember that they had an audience. Yasuo's phone was pointed toward them, clearly having recorded everything. She blushed, releasing Taro's shirt from her grip just as Minako burst into the café.

"Did I miss it?!" she yelled as Yasuo cackled.

"Maybe we should continue discussing this in my office . . ." Taro suggested.

She nodded in agreement. "I think that's a good idea. Hey Minako, catch!" she said, tossing the bag of Compass Rose at her. "Get Mr. Akiyama his coffee before he burns down my bakery."

"Fiiiiine . . ." she huffed.

Taro slipped out from behind the counters, waiting for Makoto to follow. The look in his eyes burned, but she knew the heat was echoed in her own gaze. He held his hand out for her, and she strode confidently toward him.

"Oh, and Minako?" Makoto said, pausing briefly on her way to meet Taro. "Tell Aoi not to expect me back for a while."

Minako laughed, turning to leave. "You got it."

"So," Taro asked Makoto as she reached him, "I take this to mean you accept my proposition? Your pastries, my coffee. You, me . . ."

Makoto smiled as she took his hand in hers. "I think we can work something out."


End file.
